


Wrong Side of Heaven

by SailorSol



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Faith, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 21:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/pseuds/SailorSol
Summary: “The wardrobe was a monstrosity, dominating the entire room it was situated in, looming like a dark shadow. Susan scowled at it, wondering what, precisely, she was meant to do with it.”





	Wrong Side of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Gasp! I live!
> 
> A fill for the Whumptober 2019 prompt #26: abandoned.
> 
> Title from the song "Wrong Side of Heaven" by Five Finger Death Punch

The wardrobe was a monstrosity, dominating the entire room it was situated in, looming like a dark shadow. Susan scowled at it, wondering what, precisely, she was meant to do with it. 

“Well it’s certainly unique,” Aunt Alberta said. She sniffed, holding a handkerchief to her nose like the wardrobe was something foul. “I’m sure someone will be willing to take it off your hands, dear.” 

“It’s not for sale,” Susan said, her words sharper than she had intended. Alberta was giving her that look again, the one full of a condescending sort of pity. It made Susan want to scream at her aunt that she was not some ignorant child. Susan had not been a child for many years. 

“It’s not exactly practical, especially in that flat of yours,” Alberta said. “Though perhaps once you’re married...” 

Susan resisted the urge to bare her teeth in anger. “Could you give me a moment, Aunt?” she asked in her Gentlest voice, the one that implied her request was nothing short of an order and Susan was not someone to be ignored. Thankfully Alberta heeded her tone and left Susan alone with the wardrobe. 

Truthfully, Susan wanted nothing to do with the hulking piece of furniture. If she could have her way, she would hack it into pieces and light it on fire. But Lucy had loved the stupid thing, and Professor Kirke had promised it to the youngest Pevensie when he finally passed. Her sister would have been delighted to inherit the thing, apple wood carved with intricate animals and a tree arching over them all. Ed, too, would have relished being bequeathed it, and Peter certainly wouldn’t put up a stink if it had gone to him. 

But Lucy was dead, and so were Ed and Peter. 

She turned her back on the wardrobe, refusing to cry as the yawning hole of grief tried to consume her once more. So many people dead, all in an instant, and now Susan was left to clean up after them. She let anger replace the grief, the injustice of being left alone, abandoned in a world that would only ever see her as being good for marriage and motherhood. 

She spun back towards the wardrobe, hands balled into tight fists at her side the only exception to her perfect demeanor. “You promised,” she hissed, voice cracking just a little. Oh, how she wished to rage, to scream and beat her fists against unforgiving wood. To let go of her poise and be just another angry, grieving young woman. To let her aunt and uncle deal with all of the details so poor Susan, orphaned and unmarried, needn’t worry her pretty little head. 

“You promised,” she said again. “Once a queen, you said. But that was a lie. There’s no room for Gentle queens here, no room for me to be anything other than what some man wants me to be. Even my own siblings only saw what they wanted to see. And then you took them from me.” 

A tear slipped free, and she brushed it away with an angry swipe. “You lied about that, too.” She was shaking now, whether from grief or anger, she wasn’t really sure any more. “That last day, when you took Peter and I aside, and you promised...” Her voice cracked. She stopped and took a slow breath, trying to regain her composure. Back straight, chin up, the bearing of a queen. “You promised we would never be alone. But you took them, you took all of them and you left me here in this...pale, twisted reflection, a mockery of everything I could have had, everything I _did_ have, and now... Now I’m left to decide what to do with all of this. So let me ask, what would you have me do?” 

Part of her hoped for a response, but the carved lion only looked back with sad, empty eyes. It was answer enough, as far as she was concerned. Enough for her to make a decision about the wardrobe, if nothing else. She nodded, letting a new calm settle around her like a cloak. No, she wouldn’t sell the wardrobe, nor would she destroy it. She would put it away in some empty room, alone and forgotten. 

Abandoned. 

Just like her.


End file.
